


Tales of the Shepherds: A Collection

by VivatMusa



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Friendship, General, Multi, collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatMusa/pseuds/VivatMusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are the fearless warriors who fight evil. They are the vigilantes who protect the helpless. They are the ones who dare to test their fates. They are the Shepherds. There are many stories of these legendary heroes, but have you heard all of them? No? Then stop to read the untold tales of how the Shepherds lived their lives as heroes, and most importantly, as friends. Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hearts and Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharja receives intervention from The Beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start, I would like to clear a few things up concerning this collection. It collection will consist mainly of one-shots (stand-alone short stories), unless specified otherwise. However, if I'm writing several chapters that occur in a chronological order, like an actual story, then I'll title the chapters as Part: 1, Part: 2, etc. I’m also a fan of a wide variety of pairings, so I'll be playing around with that. For example, in this chapter I paired Tharja and Libra together, but in another chapter I might pair Tharja up with somebody else. I'll list the pairings that will take place in the beginning of the relevant chapter (unless I want it to be a surprise) to prevent any confusion. 
> 
> Lastly, if you find any errors-grammar or otherwise-or have any suggestions, then I would love to hear them! Just put what you want to say in a review, and I'll be sure to fix whatever is wrong.
> 
> Now that that's cleared up, onto the story!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Fire Emblem: Awakening (or any of the games, really).

________________________________________  
Hearts and Minds  
Pairing: Tharja and Libra

Timeline: Future

Age of Noire: Approximately eight years old.

________________________________________  
Noire hesitated at the first step, gulping as she looked down the stairs that faded into what seemed like a black fathomless pit. It was possible that the pit could've led straight to hell itself.

But she knew better than that.

Even from where the little girl stood, she could hear the eerie echoes and bangs, the only signs of life at the bottom of the staircase. The sounds were coming from her mother's workroom. How long has it been since her mother last left her studies? A week? Two? Noire couldn't remember.

Ever since her father died, her mother has been working tirelessly day and night to bring him back. For many days Noire was left alone in the house where her family used to live together. The home had been filled with such happiness and peace that even the dreaded war did not seem to pass through the walls. Nowadays the house felt empty, only a faded footprint of its former glory. The rooms that once filled Noire with a sense of adventure and mystery now only haunted her with bittersweet memories—fragments of a past she could no longer grasp.

"Noire!"  
Her mother's voice, cracked from disuse, rose from the bottom of the   
staircase and snapped the girl out of her thoughts. "Get over here!"

Noire swallowed when she looked down the pit, unable to see the bottom. For a moment the world seemed to shake—has Grima finally arrived?—but then Noire realized it was only her knees trembling. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the talisman her mother had given her. A sensation like electrical sparks surged from the charm and into her body, clearing her mind of fear.

It fueled her with just enough courage for her to take the first step into the sinister darkness.

And another.

And another.

Soon it wouldn't have mattered if Noire's eyes were open or not—she couldn't even see her hand in front of her. "It's okay," she whispered, letting her fingers skim over the wall's jagged surface. "You've done this before. It's okay, it's okay… I just need to step carefully…and avoid the hairy spiders...and suffocating…and falling to my death…I bet my funeral wouldn't be very big… Would Severa even cry?"

The air soon turned chilly and thick with mustiness. Goose bumps rippled across her skin. No matter how quiet she tried to be, each step was amplified in the narrow space. She wondered if being in a crypt was like this.

At last Noire could make out a hazy light emerging from the darkness, signaling the end of the staircase. Aromas hinting of origins far away replaced the mustiness. Noire’s footfalls echoed when she hopped from the last step and crept towards the room where light was spilling out. Though she was relieved to have left the nightmarish passageway, she wasn't eager to enter the next area either. Where most people would be happy to see a light at the end of a tunnel, believing their struggles were at an end, Noire knew the light was only a disguise to things more sinister than darkness.

Staying in the shadows, Noire hugged the wall and peered hesitantly into the workroom. Her mother was only a stone's throw away, her back facing the girl. The woman was hunched over a wooden table that was strewn with leafy herbs, bottles of all sizes, and aged books and tomes. She was focused on an especially thick volume. Its pages were yellowed and filled with symbols from an arcane language. Her mother's eyes scanned the semi-transparent pages greedily.

"Momma," Noire whispered, trying not to disturb her mother. "Can I help with something?"

Tharja whipped around with a surprised, wild look on her face. Then her eyes narrowed distastefully at her daughter, and Noire shrunk closer to the wall. The sorceress rushed at her. She grabbed her by the forearm; Noire yelped as the woman's pointed nails dug into her skin. Tharja did not seem to notice the pain she was causing, or if she did, she did not care.

"About time," the sorceress hissed, dragging her daughter next to the table. She shoved the girl's arms against her sides before releasing her. "Stay."

Tharja strode to the gurgling cauldron. The liquids inside cast her face in an unnerving glow as she peered at the contents. All the while, Noire's heart fluttered in her chest like a bird. She fought to stay still like her mother had demanded, but her quivering limbs betrayed her. It's okay, she thought. Momma just needs my help.

Wide-eyed, Noire watched wordlessly as her mother grabbed a ladle from a hook on the wall. She dipped it into the cauldron. When the sorceress pulled it out, the spoon was filled with a thick, black liquid that emitted curls of steam. Careful not to spill a drop, Tharja rushed back to her daughter. She snatched the girl by the chin, cutting small crescents into her skin.

"Open," the sorceress murmured.

The brew was so close that Noire could feel the wisps of steam brushing against her cheek and could smell the foul odor as it choked her. Before Noire could make a sound, her mother shoved the ladle into her mouth.

"Drink."

The vile smell surrounded Noire as the liquid gushed down her throat, inescapable and overwhelming. It felt like hundreds of knives were stabbing her from the inside until she was doubled over in pain. Her eyes watered as she struggled to look up, searching for her mother, but blots of red threatened to overtake her vision. She struggled to cry for help but the words were stolen by violent, racking coughs.

Soon she couldn't tell if she was standing up or lying on the cold, hard ground. Noire only knew the pain wouldn't stop stop stop.

________________________________________  
*l*l*  
________________________________________

Silent, Tharja stood by as she watched her daughter double over in anguish. She didn't lift a finger to help nor offer a word of comfort. Instead her eyes gleamed hungrily, almost feral-like.

Suddenly Noire's writhing body turned still, rigid. Then the girl straightened, as if a string was pulling her up like she was nothing more than a puppet. A slack and empty expression swept over her face, smoothing any signs of agony into a blank mask. Noire's dark eyes blinked once, and when they reopened, the pupils and irises were swallowed up by a milky white.

The girl had all but disappeared.

Tharja pursed her lips as she waited for the next phase to take place. She couldn't help but frown as she looked at her daughter. Almost against her will, she stretched her hand and ran her slim fingers through the girl's fair hair, lingering slightly at the ends. Noire was so much like…him.

The sorceress yanked her hand away. She took a step back, as if hoping to distance herself from the girl, not only physically but emotionally, as well. It had to work. It just had too.

Tharja frantically searched the girl's eyes for any sign of recognition but they stared blankly ahead; open, but not really seeing. Worried thoughts chased each other around and around the sorceress's mind the longer she watched her daughter's still form. What if it didn't work? What if I did something wrong? What if—

"Mmhh…"

Tharja froze.

Another moan, soft and low, escaped from the girl's lips, though her expression was just as empty. Then Noire's mouth opened.

"Tharja?"

The sorceress sucked in a breath. The voice that came from the girl was not Noire's quiet, timid voice, but a voice that was calm yet weighed with heaviness, as if the person had just woken up. It was a voice that haunted Tharja whether she was awake or dreaming. It was a voice that was a familiar to her as her own. It was…

"Libra."

Tharja's grip tightened on the book she was holding to hide her shaking arms. "You're here."

It wasn't a hallucination.

It was real.

It was real.

"I-I almost gave up," she stammered. "This connection is only temporary, I know, but a few more experiments and we can—I can bring you back to the living. The form is slightly off, but some batwings should—"

"Tharja," Libra's voice interrupted. "My love, you must stop this."

The sorceress's eyes widened in shock. "What are you talking about? Has death made you mad?"

"I'm perfectly in my right mind," he assured. "But I am not of this world any longer. There’s no need for you to waste your life in a vain attempt to bring back mine. You Nobody can reverse death—you should know that more than anyone else. It's unnatural."

Tharja flinched as if she had been slapped. "Unnatural?" A dark aura began to pulse like a racing heartbeat around her form. "I'm trying to bring you back to life! All of this—" She thrust her arms to the shadowy room around her, though Noire's eyes did not react. "—is for you! Don't you dare tell me that wanting my husband alive—by my side—is unnatural!"

There was a tense silence before Noire slowly opened her mouth again. "Do you remember when you first cast a hex on me?"

The aura that encased the sorceress began to dim as anger gave way to confusion. "Of course.” She frowned. "It's not everyday someone volunteers to be a guinea pig."

"Yes, and it wasn't long before you discovered my secret. I still remember the words you said to me after." Tharja could just imagine Libra's gentle smile while his voice echoed, "When hearts and minds come together, they sometimes change each other.'"

"I…might've said something like that." A blush covered Tharja's cheeks as the last of the aura faded away.

"Even after death the change that happened between us will never disappear. It will always be there, connecting us."

Before her brain realized what her body was doing, Tharja raised her arm and threw her tome with all her might. Noire didn't even blink when the book hit the wall behind her with a deafening bang before dropping to the floor, its pages splayed out in disarray.

"YOU LIE!"

The scream rattled the shelves of jars and metal instruments lining the walls. Ghostly silhouettes rose from the cracks in the stone floor and stretched to the ceiling. Tharja's body shook while the aura flared around her once again, larger and fiercer than ever. "Those words mean nothing if you are not here! You left me alone—abandoned!"

"As you have abandoned our daughter?" Libra answered coolly.

"You're the one who abandoned her," Tharja spat. "Why did you do it? The arrow was meant for me and yet you stepped in front of it. Why?"

She could still see it: the assassin peeking from the bushes, an arrow notched; the terror on Libra’s face as he jumped in front of her, screaming her name; his eyes wide with astonishment and the quick, sharp intake of breath as the arrow embedded itself not in her breast, but in Libra's. Even now she could feel the helplessness and unadulterated rage that itched at the edges of her sanity. It was a fervor that even revenge could not sate.

His voice turned soft yet strong, the same tone he would use to urge her away from the dusty tomes she would spend hours poring over. "I sacrificed myself because I love you, and I would do it again a thousand times."

"Fool," she murmured, still vibrating with fury and sorrow. "We both know that you would've made a better parent for Noire."

"No," his voice hardened, not in anger but in determination. "I don't pretend to know the reasons of gods—even in the afterlife those remain enigmatic—but I do know that you are meant to be Noire's guide through her life. So I beg of you...let me go. Continue living your lives together. If you do not, then Noire will not only be fatherless but motherless, as well. Do you truly wish her to grow up with the same lack of love that we did?"

Tharja was speechless. With wide eyes, she stared at her daughter's face—so young, so innocent—as if seeing her for the first time. Whether she realized it or not, Noire had never given up on her mother. Even when the little girl was afraid, she would offer Tharja help with her experiments or cook her meals when she would forfeit food for a few more minutes of study. Noire was the only thing that had kept the sorceress' last shreds of sanity from slipping away. And how did Tharja repay her? By using Noire as a guinea pig half of the time, and the other half by pretending she didn't exist.

But that was going to change.

The shadowy figures that stretched across the walls suddenly dispersed, like they were nothing more than candlelight able to be snuffed out with a breath. The sorceress's aura shrank back into her body. For the first time in so long, Tharja felt...whole again.

The girl's lips parted once more, and the voice that flowed out sounded almost wistful. "Does the little mouse still like to paint? Before I left, we were painting an angel together. She was having trouble with the wings…"

"I-I don't know," Tharja admitted, her bangs covering her face when she lowered her head.

"I see." There was disappointment in his voice, but it disappeared in a second. "Tell her that I'm sorry we never finished the painting."

Tharja knew what was coming. Holding back tears, she looked up. "Libra, I'll curse you in the afterlife if you leave me now!"

The voice continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Tell the little mouse that I'm sorry I was never able to stop the hexes you would always cast on us…" Libra's voice became fainter as if drifting to the opposite end of a long tunnel. "Tell her that I love her and her mother with all of my heart. Tell her that even in the afterlife I still miss her every second. And tell her—"

The voice cut off.

"Don't go…" Tharja moaned.

But there was only silence.

________________________________________  
*l*l*  
________________________________________

Noire's eyes were closed when she regained consciousness. The first thing she noticed was that the air was close to freezing; a sign that something supernatural had transpired. Her head felt heavy and…oddly fuzzy, like it had been stuffed with cotton. Then a sharp pain at her temple cleared away the drowsiness. Swaying, Noire cupped the side of her head and groaned.

"Nngh…w-w-what happened?"

A muffled noise forced her eyelids apart. Though she didn't realize it, the cloudy film that had appeared during the trance was melting away, revealing her natural eye color.

The area was cast in shadows like a dungeon. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness, and another to pick out an obscure hump in the center of floor. Taking a step forward, Noire realized it was her mother.

The sorceress was lying on the floor with her legs bent to the side. Her hand was touching the ground to hold herself up, while her other hand was covering her face. Tharja's shoulders shuddered uncontrollably as she jerked her head away from the girl.

"Momma?" Noire's breath came out in a wisp. She knelt on the floor beside her mother, hesitating, before placing a hand lightly on her upper back—her skin felt as cold as ice, like touching a statue. "Momma, did I do something wrong?"

For a long moment, the woman did not move or say anything. Eventually the spasms subsided, and Tharja slowly lowered her hand from her face. Black strands of hair fell back when she raised her head, meeting her daughter's worried gaze.  
Noire held back a gasp when she saw the moisture shining on her mother's pale cheeks. She had never seen her cry before.

"What happened?" said Noire in barely more than a whisper.

Tharja's voice was gravelly with emotion. "Your father said he misses his little mouse."

Then her mother did something that the girl had not seen in a very long time.

Tharja smiled.


	2. Inigo's Five Haikus of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how Inigo handles his rejections.

Inigo's Five Haikus of Grief  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

AKA: How to Deal with Rejection

1) Denial

"Go away, you creep!"

"What's that? Come closer, you say?

As you—OW! My groin!"

2) Anger

"Watch your mouth, scumbag!

Next time you talk to my girl

I'll slice out your tongue!"

3) Bargaining

"Behold! Your beauty

is like a beacon of…of…

Gods, no girl's worth this…"

4) Depression

"Why can't I be loved?!

My looks have no rival! …Right?

Gerome?" "…Slay me now…"

5) Acceptance

"Today's a new day!

Now that I had a good cry,

Onto the next skirt!"

Repeat.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

This was just a silly idea I had in my head and couldn't stop giggling over.


	3. Song of Her Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emmeryn remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the game, I thought it was heartbreaking that Emmeryn, such an angel of a person, would never regain what she has lost. So...I came up with a solution. Enjoy!
> 
> *This chapter was inspired by another writer's fantastic work, Halcyon Days, chapter five "Family," by Tiquismisquis. While you do not need to read that to understand this one-shot, you should still read it! Like, right after you read this. Really. Anyone who likes Frederick and the Exalt family should check Halcyon Days out, and any other of Tiquismisquis' work, too!*
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the Fire Emblem games, and neither did I write the quote below.
> 
> Song of Her Heart
> 
> "A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."
> 
> -Author Unknown

l*l*l*l

"You'll wake up tomorrow with an extra appendage if you're here to pester me about training. Again."

"I'll count myself lucky that I've come for a different reason. Your arcane expertise is required."

"Ooh, so goody two-shoes wants to take a walk on the dark side, does he? Will it be incineration, disembowelment, or exsanguination?"

"While those sound most…unpleasant, I am searching for something else. A spell meant to heal."

"I make blood flow, not stop. If you need a boo-boo fixed, go bother Lissa."

"I am afraid this wound cannot be mended with ordinary magic."

"Did someone hex you? Are you hurt?"

"Not me, milady. Exalt Emmeryn."

"The royal who took the dive? What makes you think I can help her?"

"You are knowledgeable of spells the healers have never heard of. Surely there is something you can do for Her Highness that the others cannot—outside of turning her into a newt."

"You take the fun out of everything. What makes you think you can trust a dark mage like me with your precious little crown?"

"You have served the Shepherds for this long. I see no reason why you would stab us in the back now."

"You're not as unreadable as you think you are. Your eyes are an open book. Hee hee. So much for being virtuous."

"I don't—I mean, I'm not—I am only doing what any knight of Ylisse would do for their charge."

"Ugh, save me the heroics. You still haven't said what's in it for me if I do help."

"You would be restoring the life of an Exalt—"

"Yawn."

"—and you would gain favor in Robin's eyes."

"Robin? Hmm…you're right. He would be so enthralled I succeeded where everyone else has failed, that his heart would be mine to claim forever! Eee hee hee! Very well. Fetch me the gallbladder of a bat, and we'll begin."

l*l*l*l

Words are fleeting.

Whenever she reaches for one, it floats away before her fingers can grasp it. It takes all her concentration to catch the simplest of phrases, but they are patient. Or perhaps they have simply given up on expecting her to reply. Even when words elude her, she can still sense their uncertainty around her, as if they are performing on stage even though their audience had lost interest.

Nimble fingers weave a crown of flowers in her hair. Hair like hers… The girl's skirt reminds her of a birdcage, but its inhabitant is free, twittering a song in her ear. Music is easier than words. The tune floats above her like a breeze. She leans back and lets the song carry her away.

The next time she opens her eyes, the room is quiet and her hair is scented with the perfume of flowers. The girl in the birdcage has taken her song away, and the sounds of someone breathing fill its place. Sitting on the armchair across from her is a man. The teardrop on his shoulder matches the one she sees whenever she peers into a pond. The candlelight warms his skin and softens the edges of his features so he looks like a boy. Yet no child should have such dark circles under his eyes.

A bitter taste fills her mouth. He had made the effort to visit, only to find her lost in her head. Many people come, and their faces blur together like the rosy blots on the back of her eyelids, but the man and the girl stand out the most. What are their names?

Dark hair had fallen over the bridge of his nose. Her fingers itch to brush them back. Before her hand can reach his face, the tent flaps open. He jerks awake, and she feels something ache inside as she rests her hand back in her lap.

Standing slightly bowed, both because of respectfulness and the low ceiling of the tent, is the man whose armor reminds her of the sky after it rains. She wonders if she had known him before she became…lost. Whenever she had thought to ask, the question would flit away before she could remember to voice it. His eyes swerve to hers, once, before focusing on his master.

"Milord."

The man with the teardrop blinks sleep from his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sire. Robin sent me to remind you of tonight's meeting to plan the next troop movement."

"That's tonight?" He starts to rise, but freezes midway when he remembers his company. "I'm sorry, Emmeryn, but I'm afraid we'll have to continue our conversation later."

Somewhere an owl hoots, and his words finally catch up to her. It would be easier, so much easier, to just smile and nod, but she sees the longing repressed underneath the patience in his eyes. "Y-yes…I…shall wait."

He stands, and starts to turn away, before hesitating. In one fluid motion he swoops down and presses a kiss on her matching teardrop. Her heart flutters even when the warmth on her forehead is gone.

"Will you be coming, too, Frederick? Your input is always appreciated."

"Yes, milord. I shall be joining shortly."

The tent flap rustles, but her eyes are on the trembling flame of the candle. Her mind slips into itself. She does not react when he steps next to her, does not flinch when he kneels down so his face shares the same warm glow as hers. His lips part and press together, but only later, when the flame is almost level with the pool of melted wax, is she aware of what he had whispered to her.

"You are a wonderful woman, and I love you, milady."

Another ache. She has only enough time to furrow her brow before the words are blown out with the last of the candlelight.

l*l*l*l

"I tried some spells. Didn't work."

"So you cannot help her?"

"Remember who you're talking to, lapdog. The spells were meant to diagnose her condition, not necessarily cure it. I found some minor injuries leftover from the fall, but none are responsible for her memory loss."

"Then what is?"

"I thought you knights were supposed to be clever. Her amnesia is not the result of something physical, but mental. You've spent years as her guard. You should know best that having your neck breathed down everyday since you were a child takes its toll."

"Are you insinuating Her Grace has done this to herself?"

"Not consciously, at least. Her mind would have been forced into a self-preservation mode after the trauma of her fall. Anything that could have jeopardized her fragile condition would have been blocked. That would include trying to be a paragon in the middle of a war."

"I…understand, but I am not convinced Her Grace would voluntarily forget her family or her people when she has sacrificed everything for them."

"Maybe. But can you truly blame her for forgetting, consciously or not? Look at Robin. He doesn't want to remember his past anymore, because he's afraid it would taint the life he's built for himself now. Some memories should stay in the dark."

"Robin's amnesia has given him a clean slate from his father. He is able to move forward in the direction he chooses, but Her Grace...she is left scarred."

"We all have scars. Even if we can't see them on our skin, they are there. What if your intervention only makes her suffer more?"

"There is that risk, but if we never learn from our scars, then we gain nothing. Emmeryn deserves to learn, to remember. She deserves a choice."

"And will you make that choice for her?"

l*l*l*l

Something is missing. Something more than words and names and faces. She does not know what, exactly, but she finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting someone to be walking in her shadow.

She is perching underneath the grand tree. Birds are hopping from branch to branch in the canopy, singing. Always singing. As she listens, her thoughts feel less like the leaves scattered in the wind. She closes her eyes, and imagines the only thing that exists is their song, making her whole.

The ground is absent of pebbles and sticks. There is nothing to alert her to his careful footsteps. He clears his throat when he reaches her side. She does not start, but slowly lifts her gaze to meet his.

"I don't mean to disturb, Your Grace, but I had hoped to—" The words cut off when he bows his head. "No. Forgive me for intruding, Your Grace."

He deepens the bow and steps back.

"Wait…"

He pauses, before lifting his head. She is watching him. Her head is tilted slightly with her lips turned up in a smile.

"Please…stay."

She looks so much like the woman he remembers that he cannot disobey. "As you wish, milady."

Instead of sitting beside her, he moves to stand just close enough so the shade of the tree skims his face. The birds had fallen quiet, as had she. For many moons he had stood guard at the palace with nothing to occupy the hours besides counting the suits of armor, and yet he could not remember a silence more unbearable than the one growing now. How could she be so still?

He kneels and looks up at her face. Her eyes are almost shut and fluttering, as if she is dreaming.

His thirst to know where she is—where she truly is—is scorching. All the gold he would give, if he could only know what she wants. If she wishes to find her way, he shall be her guide; if she wishes to stay, he shall be her guard.

"You are a wonderful woman, and I love you."

He stands and does not look back as he walks away, even when she calls out for him in broken words. He knows he cannot make the choice for her.

But he can give her a chance.

l*l*l*l

And so it continues for many moons.

He would come once a day, every day, and always with the same message. Soon she finds herself counting down for his next appearance as she would for the hourly chime of a clock. His face is the one that rises above the blur when she closes her eyes. His words are the ones she whispers into her pillow like a mantra, lest the wind whisks them away as she sleeps. His voice is ocean water seeping into the cracks in a seashell, until even the broken edges are smooth.

I.

Lips pressed into a restraining line, shoulders erect, and eyes sharp and surveying like the black birds that swarm around the mage with the hollow smile.

Love.

The man with the teardrop blocking the blows aimed at her. The girl in the birdcage teaching her how to speak the prayers of gods and sew the skins of man. Countless nights of stories being shared in the warmth of the candlelight.

You.

Who is she? A wonderful woman? What makes her wonderful? "The way you change hearts and inspire peace with words alone," said the ruler who had shed tears only for her. But her tongue no longer shapes the language of peace. "How you've always put others first," said the girl unconfined by her cage. But her mind has forsaken those she had sworn her life to.

"Birds, milady."

He looks up as one soars over their heads, its wings stretching towards the sun.

"I don't…understand."

"I would stand watch when you would sit in the palace garden, Your Grace. Every morning at sunrise I would see you feed the birds two handfuls of seeds. Never less. You keep the habit still. I had been in your service for two years before I finally asked you why, Your Grace. Why an Exalt would insist on feeding the birds before she even changed out of her nightgown."

The words fly out before she even tries to catch them. "Because…they are free."

l*l*l*l

"There's a spell, very old magic, that might help Emmeryn."

"Thank the gods! You must perform it immediately."

"Not so fast. This isn't the magic where you just snap your fingers and set fools on fire. Anything too drastic could push Emmeryn over the edge."

"Then how does it work?"

"With subtle touches. A faint impression here, a gut feeling there—the ache of something missing. The tricky part is that the spell can only unearth Emmeryn's memories; not dig them out. She needs a catalyst, someone who can remind her who she is."

"By doing what? Telling her facts about herself? Her birthday, favorite books, the way she takes her tea?"

"You would be a terrible dark mage. The key to casting the best—or worst—hexes, depending on who's getting hexed, is knowing your victim. If your knowledge of the person only grazes the surface, so will the hex. Sure, melting a person's skull works in a pinch, but if you want to strike true terror, you need to know what will make your victim cry like a baby."

"And this applies to Her Grace in what way, precisely?"

"The principle of hexes is the same principle of the spell we'll be using. The catalyst must have a strong enough connection to Emmeryn that they can echo a shared memory. Something powerful. Personal. Something that had left a mark on both the catalyst's soul and her own."

"This spell is sounding less like magic and more like the bonds Robin speaks of. Perhaps it is magic of its own."

"Yes. It is his belief that made me research the "nice" spells I make an effort to avoid."

"I'm sure Her Grace and Robin would be appreciative you didn't disregard the spells. Now I must fetch milord and milady at once!"

"Don't. The spell won't work if the catalyst shares blood with the subject."

"What absurd magic would require that?"

"Dark magic."

"Of course. I would have recommended Phila to help Her Grace, but as she has passed away, I do not know who else could qualify."

"You are a fool. I already said that you have been at Emmeryn's side the longest. Only you are close enough to help her without being restricted by blood."

"You flatter me, but I cannot possibly qualify. I am not—Her Grace does not—"

"Enough stammering already! You can sound like a schoolboy once Emmeryn's recovered enough to laugh at you, or whatever Exalts do. So are you in or are you not?"

"Yes. With every fiber in me."

"Then make her remember."

l*l*l*l

The fine hair rises on the back of her neck. She can feel the heat of the mages' duo fire, their spells outreaching the range of his lance. She watches as he sidesteps just in time so the flames bite at his metal sides rather than his chest. The mages move in as he stumbles. Before they can strike, a tornado rolls off her hand and flings them back. Already a prayer is falling from her lips as she flies past the maze of clashing steel to reach him.

A familiar face is already there, fending off the enemies as she drops to her knees and pulls him onto her lap. His grip doesn't loosen on his lance. His face is black with soot, but his eyes are steady when they look up into hers. "Milady."

She keeps her face calm even as her heart pounds. Between the scales of armor, his skin is blistering and raw from where the flames had scathed him. He should be screaming, but only the tightness in his lips betrays his suffering. As she chants, the tip of her staff alights.

Beads of perspiration race down her forehead. Slowly, so slowly, the flaps of skin knit together into a shiny, angry blotch. She releases a breath the same moment his face relaxes.

"Thank you, Your—"

"I know...you."

He blinks, before smiling through the grime. "And I you. You are a wonderful woman, and—"

"I love you."

She gasps. A thousand broken shards of stained glass fusing together, forming pictures, memories…

Impeccable posture even as he knits by the light of the campfire while the others sleep. The back of his head as she catches him slipping into her quarters, a discreet check for assassins that is not so discreet. Voice hard with expectations and orders, but always soft for her. Always for her.

"Frederick." She doesn't stop the teardrops from falling, splashing on his face and streaking through the soot to the smooth skin underneath. "I remember everything. Chrom, Lissa, my people. And you. You never gave up on me."

Frederick reaches to cup her face, and she presses her lips against his palm, so warm. "I did not, and I never will, Your Grace."

"No." Her voice rings with a steadiness that she thought had been snuffed out. "I am not Your Grace. I am Emmeryn, and I love you."

l*l*l*l

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone believe that Frederick and Tharja's conversations were the hardest to write out of all of this?


	4. Naming Candies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naming Candies
> 
> Pairing: Gaius and Sumia
> 
> Timeline: Eh…no comment…

“…Three dozen lollipops, one dozen lemon drops, fourteen chocolate bars, nine chocolate rabbits, and one hundred and two gummy bears. Should last us ‘till the weekend,” Gaius figured, nibbling on a rope of red licorice—fifty-six. His stash of candies took up every inch of the table in front of him. Even as lowly as a thief he gained a rich man’s pleasure from counting his treasures…although lately he tasted surprisingly little of it. 

A sigh drew his attention away to the one thing other than sweets that could make his mouth water with just a glance. Sumia was lying back on the bed with a book open in her hand. Gaius could watch her read for hours. No matter the story she would become so invested in it that sometimes Gaius would catch her pacing around the room, processing what she had read, sometimes with watery eyes, other times with an unwavering grin, and every so often with eyebrows furrowed so tightly he thought they would need a massage to smooth out the wrinkles. 

Her lips pursed as she gazed over the top of the book, seeing not the walls of their home but something farther away that Gaius could not spot even if he squinted. 

“What you need is a Pensive Lollipop.” He had to repeat himself twice before Sumia glanced up blankly. 

“A what lollipop?”

“Pensive. You know, because you suck on it while you’re thinking.”

“Do you name all your candies, Gaius?” By now the book was closed, her thumb placed between the pages to mark her spot. 

“Yup. They all have one to fit a mood or circumstance.” 

“Really? But there’s so many! How do you know what fits?”

“The challenge is all part of the game, Stumbles, just like nicknames. You look at it, think about what makes it tick, and bang!” Gaius snapped his fingers. “You got a name.”

“Oh, perhaps I should be the one to name our child. It wouldn’t do to name the baby Nougot or Jelly,” Sumia mused, tracing hearts over her swollen belly. She hesitated, her fingers pausing before twiddling nervously. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of naming the baby after Cordelia. O-o-or at least something that begins with C.”

Without missing a beat, Gaius propped his feet on the table and crossed them, leaning back so the chair was balanced on its back legs as he gazed up at the ceiling. “C…C…C… How does Cocoa sound?”

“Are you asking if I want some cocoa or if we should name the child Cocoa?” 

Gaius waved the question aside with the licorice rope. “Scratch that. Our baby deserves to be named after higher class desserts.”

Sumia shook her head at her husband’s one-track mind. She scooted to the end of the bed, rustling the napkin that concealed a heap of candy wrappers underneath. The front legs of the chair thudded to the floor as Gaius moved to help. Sumia brushed him away and stood up, leaning on the bedpost for support. Waddling to the table, she eyed the colorful piles before pointing to a pyramid of thinly wrapped squares. “What did you name those?”

“That’s easy. Boredom Bubblegum.” 

“And these?”

“Almost-Caught Chocolate Coins.” 

Sumia tilted her head, eyeing him worriedly. “Do I want to know?”

“Nah. Nothing you need to lose your beauty sleep over.” 

Sumia sighed, but only held her palm out expectantly. Gaius moved to toss a coin to her for compensation, then thought better of it and handed it to her instead. Pregnancy did little to help with her coordination, although it did give her quite the sweet tooth. The chocolate coin was gone the second after the gold paper had been ripped off. Sumia looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “It ran away.”

Gaius smirked and handed her another one, which disappeared as quickly as the first. Her face turned red when the chocolate came up as a burp. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Excuse me,” she squeaked.

Gaius laughed. “We’ll blame it on the baby.” He arched an eyebrow and pointed to a triangular pastry drenched with honey. “That one’s named after you. Snoopy Stumbles’ Baklava.”

“Oh, I said I was sorry! Will you never let me live that down?” 

She swiped a finger through the honey and popped it in her mouth. Gaius watched in satisfaction as her eyes fluttered shut while she purred, the taste all the sweeter from the memory of the stings they had braved the first time they harvested the golden liquid. Her eyes were a warm caramel brown as she opened them. She scooted the candies away to make room as she sat on the edge of the table, surveying the candies again. 

“What do you call this one?”

Sumia plucked a chocolate covered strawberry by its tip. Instead of eating, she bit down on its leaves, holding it in place in front of her lips.   
“Pretty sure that’s the wrong way ‘round, Stumbles.” 

Sumia answered by tilting her head in the most adorable way, although her expression was far from innocent. The licorice dangled from Gaius’ open mouth, and Sumia giggled as he stumbled to catch it when it tipped. She grinned coyly, almost tauntingly, around the berry. Gaius slowly returned the smile as he rose. He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. Holding her gaze, he took the bait and bit into the berry. The juice spilled down their lips, staining them red. The berry dropped to the floor as he pulled her onto his lap and—“ 

“Um, Gaius?”

Gaius blinked. Sumia was watching him with a puzzled look. He must have been staring at her for a while because her cheeks began to blush as red as the berry. Gaius smirked roguishly, his fingers twirling the fruit by its stem. 

“Sexy Strawberry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably rubbish (that was supposed to be one page but turned out to be 3) but at least it’s sweet rubbish, and I’m in need of something cheerful, so it’s getting published now, gosh darn it! Reviews and critique is much appreciated!


	5. That is All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I had far too much fun writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is All
> 
>  
> 
> Timeline: Soon after you reach Ylisstol and meet the rest of the Shepherds.
> 
> Pairings: unrequited Chrom/SLASH

He tries to keep it secret, but anyone knowing him also knows that subtlety is not his forte. If even Lissa is giggling and poking him on the shoulder as they gather around the campfire, then everyone and Naga knows, too. Everyone…but Chrom, that is. Because if anyone is more oblivious than his sister it is the prince himself.

Maybe that’s the reason he’s been obsessing over him for as long as he has. Chrom can’t look up from the point of his blade long enough to realize he should be spurning him rather than sparring with him. The prince was fortunate enough to be born into wealth and status, whereas he had no title to his name but the one he fought through mud and blood to earn. His body still remembers the filth that clung to it like a scar. He would gladly take a dozen blows on the jaw before someone looked at him with that scorn again, as if he was nothing more than the bruises on his skin. Then Emmeryn came down like an angel, and with her, Chrom and Lissa. More like the family he never had. He swore that so long as he could make a fist he would stand by their side.

Even now he trains everyday until his skin is feverish and enough sweat is dripping off of him to fill the horses’ trough. If not training alone or fighting on the battlefield, he is cornering Chrom until he relents to his demands for a challenge. Neither mentions that Falchion puts him at a disadvantage from the start. The other Shepherds don’t understand, insofar as calling him obsessed as a wyvern during mating season. But none of them can fell an enemy with one strike of the axe, before they can harm a single royal hair. Every exasperated look he receives off the battlefield is worth it.

That is what he is there for. To fight. To protect. Then Robin comes along, lucky enough to be judged only by the fingertips dancing with thunderbolts and a mind racing just as swift. How could he compete against thunderbolts? Thunderbolts! As if he could really be blamed for his initial suspicions. The hours and blood he puts into training, clawing for every inch he gains, and Robin wins more than he ever did within days.

He sees the way Chrom looks at Robin. Like the tactician is a sunset burning so brightly it is more than you can process, but nor can you tear your eyes away from its brilliance. The only way he can replicate the same flush in his lord’s cheeks is through battle. Where the world and all the walls separating them falls away until it is just Chrom and he, in the heat of the moment. His chest heaving for air, his indigo hair falling in his face, and beads of sweat rolling down his chiseled jaw. His eyes burn as he thrusts his blade, and as he blocks it, they face each other as equals.

But as soon as the battle is over, and Chrom has eyes only for Robin, Vaike knows that that is all he will ever be. A comrade. A friend. But not his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you are so stunned that A) your mouth is agape B) you are speechless and/or C) you are laughing hysterically, then my job is done. If not, then please tell me how to improve so this chapter hits the mark. Thank you for reading!


	6. Sisters: Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the wait, but I assure you it is for a good reason!
> 
> This is both the longest short story I've written, and the short story that has taken the most time to write! It has 5 chapters, with a total of 7 parts, and will be updated every few days to a week at most, until it is finished. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I suppose you can call this a slight AU. There is an extraordinary amount to remember when dealing with the Awakening timelines (whose parents die when, when Grima comes, when Chrom dies, etc.). So please don't freak out that some things may not agree with canon; I am only mentioning what is necessary to tell my story. 
> 
> Please enjoy the introduction to:

Sisters

Prologue:

Let's get this straight.

Severa and Noire are not sisters. They don't share a drop of blood, they don't call each other sis, and they definitely don't braid each other's hair at sleepovers. Well…they did once—but only to prove how ridiculous it was.

The way they met wasn't typical, either. In fact, the first time they met, Severa had made Noire cry.

It wasn't her fault. Not really. Okay, it kind of was, but any six-year-old who still sucked their thumbs had it coming.

You see, Severa didn't want her daddy talking to an "old friend" when he should be out buying her a new dress. And she definitely didn't want to be in a rickety house that smelled like smoke and dead bodies and herbs that didn't smell at all like the lavender that Mommy washes her hair with.

But Severa stiffened her lip and bore it. After all, she was six and a half. Almost a grownup. And she wanted to be like the grownups, even if that meant listening to them blab about how the price of coal was absurd.

So it was only natural that she got upset when Daddy ruffled her hair and said: "Why don't you go play with Noire, honey? She looks like she could use some company."

"Naga knows she could," the 'old friend' said. "My little girl's shy, but I'm sure she'd make a good friend if someone were to coax her out of her shell." He smiled suggestively at Severa.

She frowned. It wasn't that he was mean or ugly or anything. He seemed nice enough, in that way boring sort of way. It was just that Severa had been expecting more from the husband of a crazy dark mage. Where was the pointy hat, the suspicious red stain, the crooked but dashing smirk? She wanted that; not someone who looked so…ordinary.

Severa peeked around the adults. She had hoped his wife would live up to the rumors, but there was no sign of her. The only things that might hint at strange happenings were the stinky herbs and an occasional boom, followed by a billow of smoke rising from the floorboards that everyone but her seemed to think was perfectly normal.

Daddy patted her on the back, interrupting her investigations. "Go on, then. Have fun."

Severa huffed. She was tempted to put up a fuss, but decided it wasn't worth it. Adults were boring, anyway. She stood and tilted her head back. Her nose furrowed as she took in the girl huddled at the top of the staircase with a ragdoll clutched to her chest. Severa could see her shiny red lips puckering around her thumb from here. When the girl caught Severa's stare, she gasped and shrunk into the shadows. Severa scowled. Great, just what she needed. A little mouse.

She dragged her feet to the first step. When she looked back, Daddy was still talking to his friend. She stomped up the staircase, making sure that each step was louder than the last as she checked behind her. About halfway up, Daddy turned around and gave her a disapproving look. It lasted only for a second before he turned back to his friend. Severa huffed at her bangs. She went the rest of the way up without (much) delay.

When Severa reached the top, the girl scooted away from the handrail and to the corner. Severa frowned and stared down at the girl, who immediately looked away. Most of her face was hidden by her hair, almost as long and shiny as Severa's. Not that she cared.

"I'm Severa."

The girl didn't look up.

"Hellooo? I SAID 'I'm Severa'. Didn't you hear me?"

The girl gave the tiniest of nods.

Severa snorted, and flicked back her long hair. "Didn't your mommy ever teach you that it's polite to give your name after someone gives you theirs?"

The girl muttered something under her breath.

"What? Can't you talk? Or are you too busy sucking on your thumb?" Severa scowled, balling her hands on her hips like Mommy does whenever she catches her sneaking from the cookie jar.

The little girl slid her thumb away. "I said 'my name's Noire,'" she whispered so quietly that Severa had to lean forward to hear.

"Well, Noire, do you want to play with me or not?"

Noire's eyes flicked up for less than a second before they dropped down again. She shook her head.

"What?" Severa huffed. "Am I not as good as that stupid doll? Why do you have it anyway? Dolls are for babies."

Severa lurched forward and snatched the doll right out of the girl's fingers.

"H-h-hey! S-she's mine!" Noire cried. Even her cry wasn't loud. Her little hands stretched for the ragdoll, but Severa held it above her head.

"You call this a toy? It's barely more than a sack," Severa jeered.

"Give it back! Please!"

Noire tried jumping for it, but even standing up, the small girl didn't reach Severa's shoulder, never mind her outstretched arm. Her bottom lip wobbled, but she didn't jump again like the other kids would whenever Severa held their toys for ransom.

"You're not going to be a baby, are you?" Severa taunted, when the other girl's hands dropped to her sides.

Noire sniffed, but didn't sob. Instead her mousy eyes grew big and shiny, like her puppy's when Daddy accidentally stepped on its tail. Her stare was enough to make worms crawl in Severa's tummy. She crossed her arms, but the girl kept staring, and the worms squirmed even more.

"Oh, fiiiine. This is no fun, anyway." She rolled her eyes and tossed the ragdoll to her. Noire hugged it to her chest.

But those eyes didn't stop staring at her.

"It's just a stupid doll," Severa snapped, her smirk twisting into a grimace. "You don't have to be such a baby about it."

Noire sniffled.

"H-hey! That's no fair!"

A tear swelled in Noire's eyes.

"Ugh!" Severa threw down her arms in frustration. "I'm sor-ry! There! I said it, okay?"

Noire nodded, but the tear had already slid down her cheek. It wobbled on her chin.

"Look…" Severa said. "I'll give you something if you just stop crying. Okay?"

Noire blinked, and a few more tears trembled off her eyelashes. But she wiped them away as Severa hurriedly checked her pockets for something that could count as a gift. A button or some string or…or…her fingers touched something soft.

Her eyes lit up with surprise almost as much as Noire's when she pulled out a feather. She had found it on her walk here with Daddy. She had planned to keep it for herself, but then thought of how it matched the little wing in Mommy's hair. The feather was long and slender and all white, except for its soft green tip. When she brushed it against her cheek, it was as soft as Mommy's caress. Severa couldn't wait to see her smile when she gave it to her.

Then she remembered Noire. Her little hands were already reaching out to grasp it. Severa almost jerked away. But then she saw how the girl's whole face brightened when she smiled, and she let her take it.

Severa was ready to snatch it away if she was too rough, but Noire held the feather gingerly in her palms, like it was still attached to a bird.

"See? Isn't it pretty?" Severa lifted her chin with pride. "You're lucky that I let you keep it."

Noire nodded; not a small one this time, but one that made her chin bounce. "It's a swan feather," she stated.

"It is?" Severa said, then winced, because she had to ask.

"Mmm-hmm. Momma uses them in her ex-per-rah, ex-per-ri…tests," she finished. "It's so pretty… Thank you." Noire smiled, and Severa felt heat rise to her cheeks. She wondered if she would get more gifts if she smiled so sweetly. (Only one way to find out.)

Severa looked away. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. It's just a dumb feather." Crossing her arms, she pushed her lips into a pout and tried not to look like she thought it was the prettiest thing in the world next to Mommy.

Noire only giggled. She stood on her tippy-toes until she was high enough that Severa could see the faint pink in her cheeks. She tucked her ragdoll into the crook of Severa's arm. "Her name is Selena," she whispered.

"Good name," Severa said, and not at all because it sounded like hers. Up close, Severa could see the bald spots where its "hair" had fallen out and the patches where its dress had been worried thin. But when Noire smiled shyly up at her, Severa couldn't help but return it with a smile of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Do swans have feathers with green tips? Doubtful. Then again, this is Fire Emblem, with pink dragons and huge bunny rabbits, so…hello green swans!


	7. Sisters: Part 1 and Part 2

Part 1:

 

Their parents cooed over how adorable it was that their daughters were playmates. Severa just rolled her eyes and towed Noire away by the hand. They had made a pact to search for more feathers together.

Severa liked to look in the marketplace the most. The feathers were usually small and plain, but she didn’t care. Her eyes roamed over the stalls with pretty dresses and ribbons and mirrors, and she spun castles in her head of what it would be like to live in one chockfull with the luxuries.

Noire didn’t like the markets. She clung to Severa by the sleeve, hiding behind her as the bold girl cut a path through the busy streets. 

Severa would pinch her when she could feel her arm starting to bruise, but otherwise kept her mouth shut. While she would never admit it, the thought that someone was counting on her made her happy. Maybe a little too much… She would stare down anyone who dared to cross their paths—even grownups—and then Noire would have to drag her away, stammering in her ear that adults were a lot bigger than them.

It took three trips to the marketplace before Severa had had enough of Noire’s skittishness and asked/demanded what her problem was.

“It’s s-s-so crowded…” Noire confessed. “C-c-can’t we look for f-feathers s-s-somewhere else?”

Severa sighed ruefully, but they both knew who won when she put down the dress she had been inspecting. Noire’s fingers curled around her sleeve. With a tug, she led her away from the dirt-trodden marketplace, past the city gates, and to the grassy paths outside. Noire told her in tiny whispers what surrounded her house.

Her family needed lots of space so Momma could do her work in privacy. Momma and Daddy made sure that they could go to the highest floor of their home and see no neighbors besides those in the wild (for not only were the birds and the bees handy for experiments, but they could also keep mum about them, too).

Daddy had shown her the way to the meadows near the house, Noire explained. In the morning before Momma woke, he would take her to the meadows so they could paint. There were plenty of subjects to choose from, from the daisies swaying in the breeze to the butterflies and bluebirds flittering overhead.

Severa wasn’t holding her breath. In fact, when they reached the place, she gasped. It was even prettier than the girl’s descriptions.

As soon as her house disappeared from sight, Noire let go of Severa’s sleeves and entwined her fingers into Severa’s. She would roll her eyes whenever Noire swung their hands, but that only elicited a giggle from the girl, and then she would have to hide her own smile. Of course, she still had to scare away any bugs or lizards they happened on, or Noire would shriek and hide behind her.

Severa had to admit, the feathers were prettier and more abundant in the meadows than in the market. They found them around flower stems, or caught in moss or bushes. Some were as long as their hands and others as small as their pinkies. Noire would smooth each one out before carefully storing them in her pouch with any wildflowers or other goodies they had found. Back home, they would lay the feathers out and split them up between them.

After their first fight (okay, so only Severa put up a fight) over whom got the longest feather… and the silkiest…and the one with brown flecks…and the one with white flecks…they decided that Severa would have first pick so long as she left two-thirds for Noire. They sealed the deal with a thumbs-promise (because pinkies were for wimps).

Their parents had taken to calling them their little wildlings. Within a week, the girls were almost unrecognizable. Their skins were fair by nature, but hours in the sun had darkened them to a shade close to that of the Feroxi. Well…Severa’s, at least. Noire turned red rather than brown, and needed frequent healing sessions to soothe the burns on her porcelain skin. But not a day went by when Noire wasn’t waiting on the porch for Severa to take her on another adventure.

 

l*l*l*l

 

While Momma’s magic kept any dangerous beasts away, the girls were smart enough to stick together. They kept within hearing distance, and often they were close enough that their hands would collide when they reached for the same feather or flower.

But when Noire reached for a cluster of little flowers with white berries, Severa slapped her hand away.

Noire jumped back with a squeak. “I’m s-s-sorry!”

“Gawds,” she snapped, “don’t you know what poison ivy is?”

She shook her head. “M-m-momma only t-taught me ab-bout h-herbs.”

“Of all the stupid things…” Severa grumbled, then saw how Noire was staring at her. “What?”

“N-n-nobdy calls Momma s-s-stupid,” she whispered, not with venom, but with wide-eyed shock.

“I didn’t call her stupid. I said it’s stupid that she didn’t teach you about the bad plants. Here.” She shoved her bundle of wildflowers into Noire’s arms. “These are safe ones. See? None of them have three leaves or white berries. That means they’re good. This one is a baby-blue eye, and that’s a buttercup, and these are daisies...” Severa rattled off the names just as Mommy had taught her. About halfway down the list, she glanced at the girl, and almost stumbled on the next name when she saw that Noire was listening with rapt attention, as if she were a student and Severa the master.

Master. She smirked, pleased with the title, and brainstormed more ways to reinforce it. Her gaze fell on the flowers they had gathered.

She spent the rest of the day teaching Noire how to weave flower crowns.

 

l*l*l*l

 

Severa and Noire had met their parents’ old friends before on separate occasions. Most of the time the adults would chat about boring things as Severa learned that adults often did. But sometimes Severa could wheedle them into telling her stories about their time in the war.

Oftentimes the adults would bring their children. Between the two of them, Severa and Noire could name the entire group from past play dates. Some of the children were impossible to forget, like Princess Lucina and Owain and that bunny-boy whose name Severa couldn’t remember.

However, there was one name unrelated to royalty, weirdos, or hybrids that Noire and Severa would never forget.

The grownups had taken the children on an outdoor picnic. Their parents had told them before to stay close—but kids don’t exactly have long attention spans. Two of them, Owain and a boy whose name sounded like a color that neither girl could remember started whispering in each other’s ears. Their hands were in front of their mouths so the girls couldn’t see what they were saying.

But they did catch their sneaky glances. When the grownups and the tattletale Lucina weren’t looking, the boys crouched away into the forest. A smirk slid across Severa’s face the same time that a worried frown appeared on Noire’s. Severa nudged Noire’s shoulder.

“This is boring,” she whispered. “Come on. Follow me.”

“B-b-but Daddy told us—Severa!” Noire scurried after her friend, who was already slinking into the trees.

They didn’t know where they were going, or even where the other two boys had run off to, but Severa figured they’d get there when they get there.

She was right, of course.

The forest opened to a field that rolled out into gentle hills. Near the far side of the field’s perimeter was a tree. It was too short to have seen from the picnic, but up close, it was tall enough that when they craned back their heads, their necks begun to ache. Speckled between the leaves and filtered sunlight were red dots. Apples.

Severa jumped for the lowest-hanging one, but her hand grasped empty air. She scowled. With a grunt, she jumped and clawed at the tree, holding onto the bark with her bare hands.

“W-what are you doing?” Noire squeaked.

“Winning—“ Severa grunted, as she dug her foot into the bark. “A—Prize.” She scrambled up a few inches, then lost her grip and skidded to her bottom. Severa growled and yanked out fistfuls of grass. She launched herself at the tree. Again. And again. Finally Noire pulled her back.

“We just ate,” she said. “We don’t have to have any apples.”

“Have to and want to are two completely different things,” Severa retorted. She glared up at the tree, mocking her with its fruit. She almost tried again, but Noire took her hand and lifted it up. Severa couldn’t hold back a whimper when she saw her jagged, broken fingernails. Then she became conscious of the tangled mess of her hair, and her hands started to throb, and it hurt…and she finally plopped under the tree. She buried her head in her knees—and not because she was crying.

When she was sure that the dirt in her eyes was gone and her face wasn’t red and blotchy, she lifted her head…and saw Noire smiling shyly in front of her, her arms overflowing with wildflowers. She didn’t say anything, but sat down beside her, placing half of the flowers in Severa’s lap and half in hers.

 

l*l*l*l

 

After a while, Severa noticed how full Noire’s flower crown was, with all the stems neatly tucked under the petals so only the flowers were displayed. Severa looked down at her crown, the flowers drooping and crumpled from her attempts to tuck in the stems that poked out. She was about to say something she knew she would later regret, when a shadow fell over them.

They squinted up—and Severa remembered why she had dragged Noire out here in the first place. A boy was standing in front of them. Noire squeaked and ducked her head. Severa fought back from rolling her eyes; she had told her a dozen times—cooties don’t exist.

“Hello,” the boy mumbled. His eyes looked at everything but theirs as his hand pushed up into his hair. “I’m Inigo.”

Ohh, so that’s his name.

“What do you want?” snapped Severa. Guilt twinged in her chest when the boy flinched. He snuck a glance back, where Owain was not so subtly hiding behind a bush, pumping his arm in what must have been an encouraging gesture (and if it wasn’t, and meant something else, then he’d find his arm shoved up his—)

The boy dragged his eyes back to the girls. He faced Noire, and in the process, tilted his body away from Severa. She narrowed her eyes.

“Your hair looks, um…” The boy paused awkwardly “…soft.”

Noire blushed. “T-t-thanks.”

“Can I touch it?” 

“W-what?”

The boy flinched again. “N-no! I mean—“

“Are you making fun of her?” Severa snapped. “Because if you are I’ll-I’ll—” Severa growled in frustration and shot up. “AARGH!”

She charged like a bull.

“Ack!” The boy stumbled back, almost tripping, as Severa charged like a bull. Owain chose that moment to leap out of the bushes. His hands cupped around his mouth, he shouted, “Abort! Abort!”

Owain shouted, the boy ran, and Noire pretended she was anywhere but there while Severa threw her flower crowns at said boy’s back as she chased him ‘round and ‘round the posies.

Their parents were not happy when Severa and Inigo turned up covered in dirt and sweat, with the latter’s clothes stained with the juices of mangled flowers.

 

l*l*l*l

 

Part 2:

 

The picnics ended. The “meetings” began.

More of their parents’ friends from the army joined the meetings. A few the grownups had traveled from as far away as Regna Ferox or Chon’sin just to meet, and the children could listen to their stories of foreign lands for hours. The grownups would smile as they caught up with one another, but soon their faces turned serious. They would speak in hushed voices behind doors too thick for the children to make out the words. They told the children that they weren’t allowed to play outside anymore (not that it stopped some of them).

Eventually it became too crowded to fit everyone in one house. Their assemblies moved to the Ylisstol palace, where their visits stretched longer and longer.

To Severa, it was paradise. The clothes, the food, the luxury. When she wasn’t bossing around servants, she was flattering the noblewomen until she had them cooing around her. All she had to do was bat an eyelash, and they’d gift the “adorable little girl” any pretty trinket or bauble she fancied.

To Noire, the palace was a warzone. For a girl who regarded the gigantic place through the eyes of a panicked mouse, squeaking and scuttling into the shadows at the approach of trampling feet, anything that glittered was as worthwhile as a block of cheese. The only thing that lured her out from her hiding places was the chance to gaze at the golden clothing and filigree that sparkled like her Momma’s circlet.

Noire would even stand still for hours while Severa modeled one noblewoman’s gift after the other. Her one condition was that whatever outfit she tried on, it must include a golden circlet. 

Unfortunately, their fun came to an end once Severa’s mother found out about the gifts her daughter had acquired.

 

 

l*l*l*l

 

They shared a room during their stay.

At night Severa would wake up to someone poking her arm. “Sorry!” came a small voice in the dark. Hot breath tickled her ear as Noire whispered her request.

Severa would grumble, and let a clammy hand pull her to her feet. She would fight to keep her eyes open in front of the lavatory door while Noire made water. Only a few nights had passed before a prod at the elbow got Severa up without having to ask.

In exchange, Noire told no one that Severa still slept with a ragdoll tucked under her arm.

 

l*l*l*l

 

Severa was leaning over the balcony, daydreaming wicked stories about the people down below in the main hall, when she heard footsteps approach.

Her mother was striding down the hall. With her was a woman—no, a lady. She could be nothing other, with her perfectly curled ringlets as pale as corn silk, her impeccable taste in fashion, and a refined air about her that demanded respect. For a moment Severa thought that even her mother paled when compared to this beauty.

Then the lady’s sparkling pink eyes narrowed at her. Severa had woven flowers into her hair and wore a new dress that looked good on Noire but better on her, and yet she felt as if she was wearing rags when the lady frowned her pouting lips. Her cheeks burned. Never had she wanted so badly to scurry into the shadows like Noire.

Severa pushed the feeling down into her stomach, and kept it there with her arms barred across her chest. Years of imitation made it easy to match the woman’s expression of detached disinterest. But as always, Severa slipped up, and couldn’t keep her lips from twisting into a scowl.

Mommy glanced between them. “Hello, darling. Have you met Maribelle before?”

“No.”

“I hadn’t the pleasure,” Maribelle said, extending a dainty paw.

Severa shook it with a syrupy-sweet smile. “Pleasure’s all yours.”

Mommy shot her a look. “Maribelle is an old—“

“Ahem!”

“—longtime friend of mine. We fought in the war together.”

Severa tried to imagine this pink lady wielding a weapon. “Fought, or cowered behind a staff?” she grumbled.

Mommy didn’t even have time to scold her before Maribelle thwacked her on the shoulder with her parasol.

“Honestly, Cordelia,” she sniffed, tapping the parasol on her palm as if it were a ruler, “your daughter may have your blood, but your grace has gone to waste. My, just look at that scowl! And that hair.” Maribelle furrowed her nose, and flicked a strand of Severa’s hair with the tip of her parasol. “Not at all as lustrous as her mother’s.”

“Maribelle, aren’t you being a little harsh on—“

Severa grabbed the parasol and yanked it out of Maribelle’s grip. “Go drown in a sack!” she snarled. She pushed past them, running down the hall before her mother could catch her. Mother never could.

 

l*l*l*l

Snip!

Noire jumped awake. Her heartbeat thudded as she scanned the room, expecting to find Momma clipping her locks of hair or toenails while she slept. Instead her eyes caught on a shaft of light coming from the lavatory. That’s when she remembered where she was.

“Severa?” she whispered into the darkness swirling around her, thick as fog. No reply.

Noire gulped, pulling the blanket up to her nose.

“S-S-Severa?”

Snip, snip!

The hairs on her arms bolted up. She considered ducking under the covers and praying that Severa would chase off the monster before it could smell her fear. Then she heard a sound. A sniff.

Noire clenched the blanket closer to her chest and slid out of bed. She edged forward into the darkness, leaving her warm sanctuary behind. Her bare arms shivered from the cold. She hitched up the blanket and took a deep breath.

“Angel-wing begonia,” she whispered.

“Angelonia.” Her foot inched forward. 

“Anthurium.” Step. “Arisaema.” Step. “Articho—“ Snip!

Noire winced.

Another sniff. “Artichoke.” Step.

By the time she whispered ‘Dandelion’ she was at the other side of the room. Her trembling hand slipped into the shaft of light and pushed open the door.

The blanket dropped from her hand.

“Severa?”

“Go AWAY!” The young girl cried. She was huddled in the corner of the room with a mirror held up on her folded legs. Around her feet were red tresses that looked like streaks of blood in the dim candlelight. Scattered amongst the mess were the daisies she had painstakingly woven into her hair that morning. The once white flowers were crumpled and brown, looking more like dead bugs than blooms.

“Severa…” Noire crept forward, as if she were approaching a scared mouse rather than the fierce friend she’s always known. Severa jerked away when Noire moved to embrace her. Noire hesitated, then wrapped her arms her friend and pulled her close.

“What happened?” she whispered, breath rustling against Severa’s jagged hair.

In broken words Severa told her about Maribelle’s cutting criticisms. She talked about how her mother ran after her. Noire wished that her mother would have done the same, but then Severa said how she hid, and by the time she wanted to be found, the Exalt had already stole her mother away for another stupid meeting.

“It’s not like I care,” she said, the steel returning to her voice. “Mommy can keep her precious Chrom, and her pretty hair, and her…her perfection,” her voice wobbled. “It doesn’t matter.”

Noire hugged her tighter. She kept her arms around the girl when she reached over and took the scissors from Severa’s blood-drained grip. Only then did she let go. One hand held the scissors while the other gathered her long silky tresses and lifted them up.

Severa raised her head. “What are you—“

Snip!

A lock of hair dropped into Noire’s lap. Severa gasped. “No! Don’t cut—“

Snip! Snip! Snip!

Noire set down the scissors. She smiled. “Now we match.”

“But your hair! It was so pretty!”

She shrugged. “Momma was going to cut it for her experiments sooner or later.”

Jagged locks of hair poked out at awkward angles around her face. “Now look at what you’ve done.” Severa’s lips quirked up. She sniffled, and fought them into a frown. “You did it all wrong. Here.”

She took the scissors and started to shape the girl’s hair so the strands flipped into cute curls around her neck. She kept the front locks straight and a little longer than her chin so Noire could still fiddle with her hair when she was worried.

Once Severa was done, she surveyed her work, and gave a satisfied nod. “There. That’s how it’s done.” She held up the hand mirror for Noire to look. Noire giggled and turned her head to see the different angles.

“It’s beautiful, Severa! You’re really good at this!”

“Just ‘good’? Psh. I’m the best.”

Noire nodded excitedly. She picked up the scissors and motioned for her to turn around. “Your turn.”

Severa turned her back to her. “Oh, alright.” She smirked. “But you have to cut it in the latest fashion, understood? And make sure to complement my cheekbones.”

 

l*l*l*l

 

A knight barged into the dining hall right in the middle of Severa stealing Kjelle’s dessert. He came with a warning that Risen had been spotted. The adults bolted from the chairs, their ashen faces silencing the children. The doors banged behind them as they followed the knight. To the war room, Lucina would later tell them. Her father had sent some volunteers, including Noire’s father, to patrol the area.

Some of the children didn’t know what Risen meant, but the looks shared between those who remembered their parents’ war stories said enough.

 

l*l*l*l

 

The adults stopped smiling after that. They spoke in whispers when the children were around, and in heated voices when they thought they weren’t. Within days, there weren’t enough nobles for Severa to schmooze or spy on. The only visitors were either high-ranking officials from other countries or soldiers that charged past without a word. Noire found it harder to sneak around the castle. The patrols and guards tightened, and the heads of each defense department could be seen most hours training recruits. Not only were the children forbidden to go outside, but now they weren’t allowed to leave the castle.

When their parents weren’t in meetings, they were teaching the children. Not languages or mathematics or botany, but battle strategies and combat. To the adults’ surprise, the children took to it with enthusiasm. Some of the children thought it a game; one just had to follow the weird phrases being yelled at the top of their lungs to find Cynthia, Owain, and Morgan. Others approached it with solemnness beyond their years, like Lucina and Gerome.

What surprised the adults the most was the low level of complaint from the children—the skittish Noire and Yarne were no exception. At any other time, the adults would’ve been relieved to find such willing students, but now they felt only dread. Even the children could sense that everything was about to change.

 

l*l*l*l

 

Noire didn’t like hide and seek.

It wasn’t that she was bad at hiding; she was very good, in fact. When Severa would finally find her, her muscles had already cramped and her legs had gone numb from crouching in whatever nook she had tucked herself into. But she could endure the aches. It was the waiting, the anticipation that she didn’t like.

In the quiet her breathing would get too loud and she’d have to cover it with her clammy hand. Her heartbeat would get so loud whenever she heard footfalls coming, but then she’d grow disappointed when they passed her by. She worried that maybe Severa had grown bored of the game and stopped looking. Or maybe she forgot that she was supposed to be seeking.

But Severa always found her. Always.

Every pin and needle when she finally got to her feet was worth it when Severa would give that smug smirk and declare: “I told you I’d find you!”

Noire’s breathing quickened when she heard footsteps padding outside the armoire. It was about time; her limbs were getting all tingly. But when she peeped out of the keyhole, Severa didn’t look pleased.

Why is she biting her lip, and why are her eyes shiny, and why—

The armoire opened.

“I told you I’d find her,” Severa retorted, but there was no gloating in her voice.

There was a man behind her, with dark navy hair and a kind, noble face. Chrom—Exalt Chrom.

“Y-y-y-your G-g-g-g-r-ra—“ Noire stammered, but the words clung to her throat.

Exalt Chrom raised his palm gently. “Never mind that.” he said. “I never liked formalities, anyway.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m afraid I come bearing bad news.”

Something clenched in Noire, like a claw clenching her heart. She wanted to shrink back into the armoire and close the doors. She glanced at Severa. The girl bore holes into the floorboards, not meeting her eyes.

“W-w-w-where’s Momma?”

The smile fell away. “Robin is talking to her. She is…upset.”

“Understatement of the year,” Severa muttered. “She just blew up the—“ She caught Noire’s expression, and her sentence trailed off. 

The Exalt cleared his throat. “Noire…your father…he…passed away.”

Noire froze. Her heart thudded in her ears louder than it ever had before. But there was something else. A voice. She could hear the words, could almost recognize them, but they were too far away to understand, like Momma’s chants. All she could hear was Daddy sneezing after he took a curse that was meant for her. She could feel his hand on hers as he guided her brush across the canvas, and could smell the fresh, soft cloth of his shirt when he’d hug her, promising he’d protect her from all the monsters in the closet.

“What does duty have to do with this?!”

Severa’s voice cut through the memories in her head like a razor, and the words from before trickled in. The Exalt had awkwardly gone on about how her father had died with honor and bravery, a man defending his country, a Shepherd fulfilling his duty. 

Noire didn’t realize she was crying until Severa patted away the tears with her sleeve. Severa glared at the handkerchief Exalt Chrom had offered, until he sheepishly put it away. “She doesn’t care about duty,” she said. “She cares that her daddy isn’t coming home. Honor that.” 

“You’re right. Of course you are.” Exalt Chrom bowed his head. “I’m so sorry. If you ever need anything…come to me.”

Noire nodded, but couldn’t muster words when they were drowning in tears. He cleared his throat and muttered something about giving them space.

Once he left, Severa pulled her into her arms. It wasn’t like when her father held her close, all softness and warmth. But it was the way Severa hugged—fierce, her arms almost squeezing her, as if she could push her strength into Noire if only she held on tight enough. And Noire held on tight.


	8. Sisters: Part 3

Part 3:

Noire barely had time to say goodbye before Momma pulled her away. They were going home early. Momma had lots of research to do, and Noire was supposed to behave and not disturb her.

So that's what Noire did.

The only times she went down to Momma's laboratory was when Momma needed an "assistant" to test her new spells on or when Noire left her meals. When she took away the plates, only the edges of the food had been nibbled at by the mice. Any other time she crept into the laboratory, Momma would shoo her away.

Noire spent most of her time wandering the house. The kingdom had repaid its debt from her parents' war effort by providing them with a house. It was far from a mansion, but it was large enough that there were plenty of nooks and corners to tuck into. Noire knew every inch like the back of her hand. But she still spent hours gliding her fingertips over the walls and furniture, remembering the story behind every scratch and stain.

Sometimes she would look outside the window, wanting to go outside but wishing that Severa was there with her. Days were filled picturing each memory until she was sure not a detail was amiss. The precise shade of brownish-red from when Momma had spilled bats' blood on the dining table after Daddy suggested they eat together as a family. Daddy's laughter when she was three and had decided to continue her painting on the walls after she had run out of canvas. Noire pretending not to notice when Severa stretched on her tiptoes as they measured their heights on the bedroom doorway.

When the memories were so clear it was like looking through a scrapbook, she could forget that her father and only friend were gone. But loneliness was like the monster under her bed, sneaking up on her when she thinks it's safe.

That's when the feather helped.

Noire sat with her back against the beam of her doorway, with Severa's notches above her head keeping track of more memories. Cradled in her palm is the swan feather. She strokes the smooth silk of it. Brushing the feather against her cheek, she catches the tears before they could fall. She closed her eyes, and could almost pretend it was her father wiping away her tears.

l*l*l*l

Eventually Noire stopped looking outside her window.

Every time she did, the world seemed duller, like a fading painting. The grass wasn't as lush, and the trees hunch over as if in desolation. At first Noire thought it was just her mood affecting her viewpoint.

Then the flowers that Daddy had planted started to wilt, and Noire knew it wasn't just her. Noire picked the weeds and watered every day, but the flowers continued to droop. Soon there was nothing left but withered husks.

Noire yanked them out. What did it matter? Daddy wouldn't see the flowers again. Not ever. She ripped the dead husks to shreds, then threw them as hard as she could. Her hands were sticky with the plant juices. She squeezed them until her fingers hurt, but it wasn't enough to stop her tears. Once one escaped, a torrent followed. There was no one to wrap their arms around her as her shoulders shuddered with each wave of tears.

Finally, the tears ran as dry as the dead flowers, and exhaustion sank in. Noire let herself slump until her cheek was pressed to the ground. The ground wasn't warm, rich soil anymore, but dirt. Gritty, dusty dirt, and as her heavy eyelids drooped shut, she wondered why everything was dying.

l*l*l*l

"Wake up."

A hand on her shoulder. "Daddy?" Noire murmured.

Fingernails like needles digging into her skin. "Momma?"

"Go inside. Now."

That's when Noire realized how cold she was, the dirt beneath her like ice. She shivers, her breath a white wisp. The cold—magic.

A moaning sound makes her jump, and this time Noire shivers, but not from the cold. The fingernails lift, and Momma is yanking her to her feet. "Now!"

Noire stumbled into the house. When she looked back, Momma was facing the forest. An opened tome floated beside her, its pages whizzing with the same unseen force that blew Momma's hair and cloak. Night had fallen. The mist that carpeted the ground darkened into the fathomless pits of nightmares; in between the shadowy trees, purple eyes glow.

That's all Noire could see before Momma flicked her fingers and the door slammed shut. Noire recoiled, and all her motion moved to her racing heart and her rapid breaths. Then the moans came again, louder and louder, and Noire unfroze.

For the first time, she doesn't hesitate when she bolted down to the basement, racing through the darkness. It felt like years before she saw the light of the candles in Momma's laboratory. Noire whipped her head around, accessing the room, before she dove under the table.

The candlelight threw shadows on the wall. Before she thought they looked like evil spirits, but now she saw them as nothing more but reminders of what's waiting outside.

She only remembered the long feather she had stuck in her hair when it drooped into her face, loosened in her haste. She plucked it out and held it close to her chest while the candlelight flickered.

l*l*l*l

It seemed to go on forever. Outside, the night howled. Noire curled tighter into a ball each time the room shook, dust showering down from the ceiling, and wished that Severa could scare away the monsters. 

Finally, the howling stopped. Noire listened for it to start again, but the night remained deadly silent. Then the door creaked.

Momma stumbled into the room. Clothes ripped; skin bloodied; and tome spent of nearly all of its pages. But alive.

l*l*l*l

Noire may have feared the laboratory, but she knew it like the back of her hand. It took her less than a moment to fetch the elixirs and measure it out onto a spoon. When she moved to give it to Momma, the medicine spilled from her shaking hand. Momma's was no better when she seized the spoon, threw it against the wall, and chugged the elixir from the bottle. It clattered empty the ground.

Momma wiped her mouth on her sleeve and pushed herself up, leaning heavily on the worktable for support. Noire rushed to help, but Momma shoved her away. "Useless!" she hissed. "Grima is rising, and you are powerless."

"I'm not!" Noire cried. "I can-I can l-l-learn! I c-can learn m-m-magic, like y-you!"

"NO!" Momma swept her arm across the table, wiping bottles and body pieces to the ground. She gripped the table edge. "No… You are a little mouse," she murmured in a singsong voice that Noire couldn't remember her using before. "A mouse that needs a new toy…"

She kept muttering about a 'power source' and 'needing more' as she rushed about the room, rummaging through the shelves and cupboards. Noire tried to creep back upstairs, but froze when Momma stabbed a finger in her direction. "STAY!"

Noire stopped.

Momma's legs shook, but her hands were steady when she grabbed a knife. No pain crossed her face as she sliced her palm. A bloody gash; she squeezed her fist. Blood trickled out, sizzling when the drops splattered the stone. Ancient words dripped from her tongue like poison from a snake. The temperature plunged. All at once, the candles blew out, plunging the room into darkness. Smoke stung the air.

Slowly, the room filled with a crimson light. It was radiating from within the stone.

Noire pressed her hands to her ears, but Momma continued to chant. Like ink in water, scarlet swirls stained the stone until the white was swallowed up by a shade of starless night.

Momma ceased chanting. The light from the stone dimmed, but did not go off. Its glassy surface undulated, as if glowing red smoke had been encased inside.

A flick of the sorceress's hand and the candles relit.

Noire exhaled. Her relief was brief when Momma swept towards her, the stone in hand. "Take it."

Noire shook her head. "B-but I don't—"

"I didn't ask." Momma yanked her arm, prying her palm open. She shoved the stone into it.

A force slammed into Noire. It was like walking into a windstorm, and her lungs fought to draw breath. Black smoke clouded her vision. She could just peer through it to see her mother's strained but triumphant face looking back at her.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" she howled, her voice hers but…stronger. Like thunder. Her blood pounded in her ears and her heart slammed into her chest like as if it had been zapped by lightening. For the first time Noire tasted anger.

Mother only smiled.

"I gave you power."

l*l*l*l

Noire spent most of her time in the laboratory thereafter, where Mother gave her lessons.

At first Noire was afraid when the smoke would roll over her like a storm. But Mother taught her. She taught her how to use the talisman, how to see past the smoke so it only tinged the edges of her mind. She taught her to harness the energy that pulsed from the stone, and to disperse it throughout her body as raw power.

The best part?

When Noire stood in the eye of the storm, she was no longer afraid.


	9. Sisters: Part 4 and Part 5

By the time Severa left the palace, the world was a different place.

Even on market day the streets were nearly empty, and the people who did come, kept their heads down as they rushed about their business. Severa would scour the stalls, but all the dresses had been replaced with swords, the jewelry with tomes, and the ribbons with vulneraries. That was when she was actually allowed outside.

The rules had only tightened since her time in the palace. Not that that stopped her. Mother frequently traveled to the palace to "assist Exalt Chrom" while Daddy spent hours sharpening his battle skills. Often she would join him…and other times she would slip away, when he was so engrossed in his training that he wouldn't notice her absence.

When she didn't go to the market, she explored the wildlife near her house instead. She never went too far. Not that she was afraid of Risen or anything. It was just easier to keep Daddy in sight in case the Risen snuck up on him. Anyway, her adventures didn't do much good.

The plants had withered while she was away. Wherever there had been a patch of flowers or a bushy shrub, she found only soiled petals and dried sticks. Nothing pretty to show off to Noire. But not one to leave empty-handed, she climbed up trees and poked around thorny bushes, searching. She had to wear trousers to hide her scraped knees from her parents, but it was worth it when she came home with a handful of precious feathers.

l*l*l*l

Severa's world wasn't the only thing that changed.

Noire was different, too, but she had a harder time putting her finger on why. If anything, she had expected Noire to be more fragile after her father's death. The girl was still as timid as ever (not even the foretold apocalypse could change that), but the girl who couldn't stop shaking the last time Severa saw her now had a sureness in her eyes—if nowhere else—like if push came to shove, she could stay on her own two feet.

Noire had said that her mother had given her some type of charm for fortitude, but Severa didn't pay it much thought. She had more important things on her mind: training.

Of course everyone had expected her to be a Pegasus Rider. Of course she was stuck with her mother as her main instructor. Of course the first thing Mother did was stick a lance in her hand.

Of course she flunked that.

The Pegasus wasn't the problem. Severa was actually fond of her steed; it was a great listener whenever she needed to vent about Owain insisting that she "christen her instruments of holy flesh-stabbing", or when Cynthia would yell stupid battle moves in the middle of training. Dum-dums…

She blames them for distracting her. And those stupid lances. What dummy thought it a good idea to use an oversized toothpick for a weapon? Not to mention the balance. It was top-heavy and too long for Severa's blossoming figure. Any attempt to lunge ended up with her tripping on her own feet and looking as foolish as Auntie Sumia. And that takes work.

It didn't help that everyone expected her to just get it, as if she had popped out the womb with a lance in hand. It also didn't help that Mother drilled her again and again, nitpicking her every detail in front of everybody. "Try tilting the lance another five degrees up, dear." "There must be one point fifty-two yards between your feet, not three and twenty-five." "I told you before, dear: take two steps before you lunge." Finally, Severa had had enough of her corrections and pitched the lance at a tree. It pierced through the heart of it, the length of the steel quivering like a dart in a bull's eye.

Daddy taught her lessons after that.

She was in awe the second he put the sword in her hands. The sleek blade glinted like starlight and its length allowed an agility that the lance did not. Daddy's hands gently adjusted her grip on the handle, and guided her through the basic stances. While he didn't have the precise perfection of Mother, he had a graceful ease of a master as he danced along the training field. Severa followed his footsteps, their swords glinting together in the sun.

He lunged, and Severa did the same. The sword cut the woodblock in twain.

Daddy called her a natural. She grinned, and brought down her sword again.

l*l*l*l

Now it was time for Noire to learn how to shove back.

Axes were quickly ruled out. Noire's willowy frame didn't have the muscle for it, and she couldn't lift an axe any more than Severa could when she was three (though not from a lack of trying). Lances were out of the question, too, since neither had a proper teacher to instruct them that Severa didn't want to strangle. Magic would have been the best alternative. Noire's mother said she was gifted, but she would never come out of her research to teach her.

That left swords.

Her eyes were too bright when Noire first picked up the sword. Her hands trembled, though not from weakness. She steadied her chin and stepped into position.

"Perfect stance." Severa nodded, appraising her. It was an unspoken agreement that she would be Noire's sword master. "Your dad taught you well."

"He did," Noire said, with more conviction than Severa usually heard from her friend.

After that, the lessons went about as well as expected.

l*l*l*l

"Now strike!"

"Ay-ya!" Noire thwacked the tree branch with her sword, slashing into the bark. The leaves rustled; Noire yelped, jumping back and dropping her weapon.

"What was that?" Severa demanded. She stomped over to her and seized the sword. "Gawds, Noire, you never drop your weapon! If this were a battle, you'd be skewered through!"

"Sorry," Noire squeaked.

"'Sorry' won't save your ass any more than your fairy godmother will blast your enemy to bits with her magical goodness." Severa shoved the sword back into her hands. "Again," she ordered, stepping out of the away. "And this time, no yelping."

Noire lunged forward—the leaves rustled—and she jumped back with an "eep".

Before Severa could say it, another voice bellowed, "That was pathetic!"

Severa scowled when Kjelle marched up to them. "Great, it's you. What do you think you're do—"

The knight shoved past her to Noire, ignoring the other girl's huff. Kjelle was about a head shorter than Noire, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in sheer ferocity. Noire whimpered, shrinking into the shadow that the other girl's armor cast.

"A warrior never—" she jabbed her finger into Noire's chest "flinches! Our parents are depending on us to take charge and fight." Jab. "Not act like giggly schoolgirls who faint at the sight of blood!" Jab.

Noire was shaking with each push, but suddenly her body stills. Her pupils swallow up her irises. "Blood…"

"Crap," Severa muttered. She tugged on Kjelle's shoulder, but the other girl swatted her away without looking.

"If you can't handle the weight of our parents' mantle," Jab! "then go back to—"

"BLOOD AND THUNDER!" Noire roared.

"Damn," Severa said.

Kjelle blinked, shocked. That second of surprise cost her dearly. With a burst of strength, Noire struck her on her top-heavy armored shoulder with the flat of her sword. The blow was enough to knock her back.

Only a warrior's reflexes stopped Kjelle from falling on her bottom. She lunged for her lance. Her fingers had barely grazed the handle when Noire had her at sword point, her eyes narrowed and ruthless. A shadow had fallen across her face, and her features contorted with enough wrath for even Kjelle to pause.

"INSOLENT FOOL!" she bellowed. Her timid voice was shadowed by thunderous tones, too unfathomable to tell apart. "WHO ARE YOU TO PASS JUDGEMENT ON ME?! ME, THE FIRE AND THE FURY! YOU MAY ACT WITH STRENGTH, BUT I SEE PAST YOUR FAÇADE, YOUR PITIFUL ARMOR. AND I. JUDGE. YOU. WEAK!"

Kjelle rolled, and the earth was stabbed with the blade that would've have pierced her gut had she moved a second later. Severa glared at the baffled girl.

"Run."

For the first time, Kjelle listened to her brain rather than her brawn. She ran.

Noire wrestled the sword out from the ground. "COWARD! DO NOT RETURN, LEST I WATER THE EARTH WITH YOUR BLOOD! BWAAA HA HA HA HA!"

Dirt flung back when she pulled out the sword. "YOU!" she snarled, and leveled the blade at Severa.

Severa had seen Noire and her "fits" before. Usually she sat back and watched the show, figuring it was good to see the girl finally get some backbone—even if it did stem from a dark artifact. But never had the malevolent fury been directed at her before.

Noire howled. "YOU DARE COME BETWEEN ME AND MY—"

Severa sprung forward and snatched the talisman from the girl.

"Never," she growled, "point a sword at me again."

Instantly the shadow cleared from Noire's expression. Her grip loosened, and the sword clattered to the earth. Her eyelids fluttered. "Um…what?" She blinked at Kjelle's retreating form, already a dot in the horizon. "Did I…do that?"

"Yep." Severa tilted her head to get a better view. "Huh. Who knew her backend would look more appealing than her front."

She shuddered; a chill crawled up her arm and she dropped the dark artifact. "Gawds." She winced. "I hate touching that. Next time you get possessed, exorcise yourself."

Noire giggled sheepishly. "Sorry?"

l*l*l*l

Severa banged her head on the tree. "No, no, no." She marched back over for what felt like the hundredth time. She seized the branch and shook it. "This. Is. A. BRANCH. About as deadly as Owain's battle lines, and yet you're leaping away from it as if it's Grima."

"Sor—" Noire gulped when she saw Severa's expression. "It's just that…when I'm about to move, I see a tree, but as soon as I attack…all I can see is a person. And I don't—I don't—"

"Want to kill."

Noire nodded.

"If this was a perfect world, you wouldn't have to. You could be as squeamish all you want and you'd leap over rainbows on Pegasi and sing la-de-da. But you can't, because the world isn't perfect and you're in a damn war."

Noire nodded again, her head hanging down as she traced aimless patterns into the dirt with the tip of the sword.

Severa sighed. "But that doesn't mean we have to stare death in the face when we kill." Severa grabbed the sword and sheathed it. "How do you feel about shooting the world in the face?"

l*l*l*l

Severa wished they had tried bows first; it would've saved her hours she could've spent training on her own skills.

They had encountered the same problem with lances: neither had an acceptable teacher. That didn't stop Noire. She had only held a bow once in her life when Uncle Virion had shown her how, and yet even through Severa's untrained eyes, she knew that her stance was flawless: shoulders back, arms level with her bow, legs planted firmly in the earth.

The first problem was solved in that the bow offered distance between her and her target. Noire had time to breathe and calm her nerves before shooting. The arrows would swerve to far at first, but with each shot, the head would embed itself closer and closer to the bull's eye that Severa had painted on the tree.

By the time the sun had set, she could hit her target two thirds of the time. When Severa replaced bull's eye with a caricature of Kjelle, the arrow hit every time.

l*l*l*l

They were at the apple tree again. They were finally tall enough to climb it, but Noire would only go on the low branches, just high enough that her toes would graze the grass when she swung her feet. Severa climbed far into the canopy. Every time that Noire called for her not to go so high, she would climb higher, and only stopped when Noire's voice started to wobble.

Severa dropped down the juiciest and reddest apples for Noire to catch from below. Then she made her descent and perched on a branch high enough that her feet were level with Noire's shoulders.

"Apple," she said, and lowered her hand. Nothing. She glanced down, clenching and unclenching her empty hand. "I said 'apple'!"

Noire jumped, looking up. "What?"

"'What?'" Severa mimicked in a nasally tone. "What are you staring at?"

She looked up, and saw two boys sword-fighting in the rolling fields spread out in front of them. Inigo and Owain. Their shouts and blade clashes could be heard from here.

As Severa watched, they stepped around each other, circling, weaving in and out with the fluidity of partners. No longer were they the children that flinched at the blow of a wooden sword, but unflinching adults that countered with a flick of the wrist. Their blades darted by as quick as a dragonfly's wings, only visible by the flashes of light on steel.

One day Severa might even consider them competition.

But Noire wasn't looking at them. Well, not them, plural. Both boys were agile, but Noire's eyes were locked on the more graceful of the two…the one with the footwork of a dancer.

"Ohhh." Severa rolled her eyes. "You like him."

Noire jumped as much as she had the first time. "What? W-w-who?"

"You know who." Severa nudged Noire's shoulder with her toe. "Mister Pretty Boy. Indigo."

"Inigo," Noire blurted, then blushed.

"First name basis, I see."

Noire looked away. "That doesn't mean anything. We've known him since we were kids."

"But you didn't like him when you were a kid."

Noire's blush deepened.

"You didn't." Severa said. Then seeing Noire's flustered expression, she threw her head back and cackled. "Oh, you did—no, do."

"Do not!"

"Gawds, you're a terrible liar." Severa snorted. "Look, if you like him, tell him. Unrequited romances are for morons."

"No!" Noire furiously shook her head. "I couldn't. He, he, flirts with everyone."

"And gets blown off by everyone, too."

"That almost makes it worse."

"How? Naga knows what he'll do if a girl actually pursues him first. He might just combust from happiness."

"Even more reason not to."

"Look at him!" Severa threw her arm in the direction of the sparring boy. "What do you think he'd rather be doing? Combusting because a pretty girl's flirting with him or getting bruised up by his sweaty sparring partner? Besides," Severa added, "I bet you could show him better ways to get bruises."

"Severa!"

"If you need tips, I've got just the book for you."

"SEVERA!"

l*l*l*l

She had already demanded that Daddy stayed. He had frowned, his brow scrunched up, his lips drawn tight, and Severa was certain he would cave in to her wishes like he always did. But not this time. She wanted to try another ploy, but he wouldn't come out of the bedroom, where he was packing their things.

Their things.

Severa knew that she was the only person invincible to her tricks and ploys. All of Severa's weapons were useless. And if she were to stand a chance, she had to lay down her armor, too.

It was the only time in her life that Severa begged.

She tugged on her mother's sleeve, as if she was a child again. "You can't leave me. You just can't," she pleaded.

Mother pulled her in close. Severa instinctively buried her head into Mother's shoulder until she could breathe in her red rose perfume.

"You're so beautiful, my sweetest girl," Mother murmured into her ear. "So strong and brave. How could I ever have been so lucky to have you?"

It was what Severa had always wanted to hear.

But not like this.

The perfume lost all its sweetness, turning the air rotten.

"You'll be alright. I know you will." Mother ran her elegant fingers through her hair, caressing a path to her cheek.

Severa slapped her hand away. "Don't," she hissed. "You're just saying that so you can abandon me with a clean conscience."

Her mother flinched; Severa looked away, but that didn't extinguish the bitterness in her mouth.

"I'm not abandoning anything," Mother said, her voice gentle but firm. "I must go. I must protect—"

"Your kingdom, I know."

"No." Mother shook her head. "It is my duty to protect my kingdom, yes, but my one and only priority is to protect the person who is special to me."

This time it was Severa who flinched like she had been slapped. "Your beloved prince, you mean." Severa shoved away until she was out of her arms. Mother reached for her, but Severa held her ground, summoning every ounce of anger and frustration and jealousy that she could muster, until a fire raged inside of her. "I may not be a genius like you, Mother," she spat, "but I'm not an idiot. I always knew you loved your precious Chrom more than Daddy and I. This is just the final proof."

Mother gasped, her perfect ruby eyes shimmering. "Severa, how could you say such things? You know I—"

"—love me. Yes, yes, I know. Just not enough."

She turned away before Mother could see her chin tremble. It had always been easy to summon her temper, but it was harder to hold onto it. Already she could feel the energy draining away. She kept her voice steely through sheer will. "If you're going, then go. I don't need you."

Another gasp, like a dagger sinking in. Severa turned her back and ran. This time, Mother didn't run after her.

l*l*l*l

The days after, Severa would continually glance up at the graying skies. When Noire pointed it out, she denied it furiously. "Gawds, blame me for making sure it doesn't rain buckets on our heads," she'd snap.

But one day while they were training, she finally caught a sparkle against the dreary clouds. By the time Noire had slackened her bow, Severa had already dropped her sword and was charging towards the growing shadow on the ground. Dead leaves scattered when the Pegasus beat its winds and swooped to the earth.

"Mother! You're ba—" Severa skidded to a stop. Before the knight even dismounted, Severa knew it was not her mother. No mane of red cascaded down the knight's back as she dismounted.

"Ma'am," the woman said, bowing. She stepped forward. When Severa stepped back, the woman stopped with a pained expression.

"She's dead, isn't she?"

The woman closed her eyes and nodded.

"How?"

"There was an ambush. We were—"

"We? We, as in the Pegasus Knights that vowed to protect one another?"

The woman bowed her head. "We were outnumbered, my lady, but your mother fought—"

"Perfectly. She fought perfectly, and died because you didn't have her back. Then again, you never did, did you?"

"Please, that isn't—"

"You finally got your wish!" Severa screamed. "You should be happy. You should be having a damn celebration! She's dead, so now you and all your other little cheerleaders can hog the glory for yourself!"

The woman's expression hardened. "I understand your grief is immense, but your words are unjust. Cordelia was one of our own; we loved her like a sister."

"No, you didn't! You never did, so stop lying to yourself!" Severa shouted. "You were jealous, and she died because of it! Gawds, you small, pathetic bit—"

A hand on her shoulder. Severa jumped. Noire. When did she get here? Noire was shaking her head, her expression as sorrowful as she remembered it after her dad had died.

Severa's voice dropped, "And my daddy?"

Another nod. The dead grass rustled when the woman moved forward. "Child, I will help however—"

"I'm not a child," Severa snapped. Then, in a softer voice, "Not anymore."

l*l*l*l

Severa didn't move even after the Pegasus had vanished into the horizon. She stood rooted to the same spot, her head down, her teeth clenched, and her hands balled into fists. But she couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking as teardrops fell from her chin. Noire didn't try to hug her or say anything. She just stood with Severa, holding her hand.

When the streaks of tears had dried on her face, Severa squeezed Noire's hand, and let go. Noire followed her as she marched back to where they had been training. Noire didn't pick up her bow, but watched as Severa seized her sword and launched herself into every strike and slash.

By the time the sun had sunk, their practice stump had been reduced to nothing but sawdust. Severa's chests heaved when the sword dropped from her hands, the open blisters stinging from the cold air. Severa wiped away the long streaks of hair glued to her forehead, and for once was glad that sweat drenched her body; it had washed away the tears.

When Noire tried to bandage her hands, Severa shook her head.

"Leave them."

Noire hesitated, but put away the bandages. If Severa hadn't been too exhausted, she would have been relieved. Now she had something that hurt more than the pit in her heart.

l*l*l*l

Part 5:

There was almost nothing left of the world they had grown up in by the time that Lucina summoned them. The new Exalt was never one to pull a punch. She held nothing back as she explained in her grim voice the risk they would be taking in toying with time. But surrounded by the hardened faces of the children they had grown up with, she asked them to do the impossible. There was no hesitation.

So together, Severa and Noire said nothing as Naga bathed them in a cyan light. It became blinding, and in the sightlessness, their hands found each other. They held on as the world swirled around them.

When they opened their eyes…they were home.


	10. Sisters: Epilogue

Epilogue

They won the war.

After the celebration died down, they met at the apple tree. Severa climbed up first. For habit's sake, she lowered her hand for Noire. Her lips itched to pull up when a slim hand slipped into hers. She helped her find her footing, and together, they reached the top of the tree.

They had seen a world scarred with war, set aflame and blackened with the ashes of their dead. Their memories were seared with the sharp intake of breath as steel pierces flesh, and the silent exhale as life deserts the eyes. That part of their lives would never wash away. It marked them; a Brand.

But the storms of their pasts abated as Severa and Noire overlooked the same green rolling hills, the same warm bark under their palms, and the same sweet scent of apple blossoms wafting in the breeze.


End file.
